


Monsters Under the Bed

by MakzwehlEdison



Series: The Hiraeth Chronicles [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Absent Parents, Angst, Coping, Gen, Homebrew Content, Homelessness, Inner City, Loss, Original Character(s), Original Characters - Freeform, Orphans, Poor, Siblings, Survival, Tieflings, Waterdeep, yawning portal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 17:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20362576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakzwehlEdison/pseuds/MakzwehlEdison
Summary: The first ficlet in The Hiraeth Chronicles. Two tiefling siblings, orphaned, trying to survive on the streets of Waterdeep.





	Monsters Under the Bed

**Author's Note:**

> (These are original characters my wife and I are playing in an upcoming campaign set in Waterdeep. Any likeness to existent properties is purely incidental and most likely the work of my associative mind. This is just a place to get my stories out for young Insidious [previously known as Petrichor] and his sister Temerity [Pyra])
> 
> Also, you should know that The Hiraeth Chronicles will not be posted in chronological order. They're being posted as I complete them, and we will be jumping around a timeline of roughly  
Please let me know what you guys think!

The sun was cresting just over the Sword Peaks as Petr’s pacing dug a trench into the silt in the back alley. Why don’t they just move? he thought, shooting glances at the promiscuous couple that were undoubtedly procrastinating their inevitable return to their shrewish wives and multitudes of mouths to feed. Petr didn’t care about the men’s trist, secret love affair, uncontrollable desires. In fact, if Waterdeep would get over their silent suppression, he thought, acidly; these two wouldn’t be here in my way. They’d be at their own home, living happy little lives.

Nervously, Petr looked over his shoulder at the rising sun. If he didn’t get inside right now, Pyra would spend the entire morning giving him the third degree about where he’d been; and he couldn’t afford to be late to the City Guard two days in a row in his first week. Porter would have him keelhauled-- whatever that meant.

THE GUARD! he thought; breaking out into a mischievous grin--shrugging through the pain of the split lip he’d graciously received the evening prior. Why didn’t I think of that before? He closed his eyes. He’d only delved into his blood magic a couple times before. Honestly, using it gave him some uncomfortable feelings that he didn’t quite think he was capable of wrestling with at the time-- it made him think of his mother. Petr shook his head, Not now!

He concentrated until he could feel it bubbling in his veins. Not a bad feeling, just different. It felt warm and somehow...sweet? Like a cinnamon bun, fresh out of the baker’s oven. He shook again. It was time. He opened his mouth, but the words didn’t come out. Not out of him, at least. 

A window suddenly flew open down the street, just past the embracing lovers. It *CLANGED* against the wooden and metal frame. Suddenly a voice shouted “Stop! City Guard!” The voice was Petr’s, but not. He tried hard not to think about its origin as the two men instantly scattered into two completely separate directions-- not even briefly glancing toward the empty window.

Petrichor Hiraeth sighed heavily and slid open the piece of plywood he’d leaned innocuously against the back of Burgeous’s Bakery; slipping into the unused storage space that he and his sister had called home for these rainy months. He shot a furtive glance to their bed, making sure she was still asleep. Sure enough, she was splayed out across both sides of the bed like some sort of beat-red starfish. Slowly, he crouched and made his way over to the makeshift safe he’d hidden in the back of the “bookshelf” that he’d fashioned for Pyra. It was the only place he could hide his winnings that she wouldn’t find them. The bookshelf was, more accurately, a couple of empty liquor crates filled with pamphlets and religious flyers. Petr had managed to purloin a couple damaged children’s books from the library dumpster that he used to lull the girl into a deep enough sleep that he could sneak out to the Forge.

He unscrewed the leaky drain pipe (he had snuck inside the bakery and make sure this one led from the sink, not the toilet) and replaced it when he had filled the pilfered washbasin. Soaking his face and mussing his hair, he cleaned himself up as best he could before sliding into his work vest. The water was distressingly pink when he emptied the basin but he didn’t have time to worry about that. Affixing his apprentice’s sash and slipped out of his trousers and into his khaki work pants, he was careful to slip his whip-thin tail gingerly into the left leg before fastening the buckle.

He stooped over to the bed and laid a pale white hand on his sister’s crimson shoulder, whispering, “Hey Spitfire, get up. I gotta get you over to the Portal. C’mon, we’re gonna be late!” The little girl started, rolled over, passed gas, righted herself, slooooooooowly sat up, and spread her arms in what looked to Petr like the most luxurious stretch ever stretched in this world. He gave a little sigh of jealousy at the well-rested red form crawling sleepily out of the thatching. She staggered lazily over to her bookshelf’s bottom crate, where she had laid her clothes the night before. 

Clothes for tieflings were expensive and rare. Well-to-do tieflings (those that were rich enough to live in society above the horrors the Hiraeth children were subjected to in the streets of Waterdeep) had their clothes custom made around their various tail shapes. Petr took solace in the fact his sister wore custom clothes too. He had fashioned a pair of bloomers for her out of a brand new table runner he had noticed one night at the Yawning Portal. He respectfully turned around as she slipped them on; smiling when she asked him to tie a bow over the root of her tail that kept them from falling. She turned and raised her arms expectantly at him, eyes still closed from the sleep. He rolled his own eyes and slipped her flowered dress over her, situation the slit to fit just over her tail in the way she liked-- so you couldn’t tell Petr did a terrible job keeping the dagger straight when he was fashioning it out of a regular human’s dress.

She finally rubbed her eyes and looked at him. They became saucers as she gasped. “Petra! What happened to your face? It didn’t look like that last night!” She ran and grabbed the broken piece of mirror she’d picked up to help her with her hair and shoved it in his face.

“Careful, you’ll cut yourself!” Petr shouted, immediately regretting how much noise he’d made. They paused for a moment to listen if anyone had noticed.

“But brother, your eye is puffy and your lip’s bleedin’ like nothing I’ve seen. Was it...” She looked sheepishly at the dark spot underneath the misshapen bed. A look of sudden and succinct realization swept over her face and she began to tear up. She grabbed her brother in a tight embrace. It was at that moment, Petr realized his shoulder was dislocated--but he grimaced through the pain. 

Pyra whispered fervently, “I’m so sorry, Petra.” She refused to call him by his real name because it “sounded silly.” “I should have been awake to help you. Promise you’ll wake me next time the monster tries to eat me. I can handle it, I promise! I’m five, now! Big enough to help you fight whatever comes out from the bed!”

Petr rubbed her back. “There, there, Spitfire. I know you can. He was a little one, this time. It just tripped me and I fell on my face. You know how clumsy I am.” He gently pushed her away, putting his hands on her shoulders. He smiled at her tear-streaked face and fought back a yawn. “You know I’ll never let anything hurt you, Pyra. I can handle the mean monsters. They get smaller and easier to take down every year that you get older. I think they’re scared of just how smart you’re becoming. That’s why it’s so important to me that you keep reading and doing the maths with Mr. Durnan, okay? Because I need you to help me outsmart the monsters.”

“Okay,” she finally replied through her puffed lower lip. “I promise, Petra.” She wiped her face again, then looked in the mirror. Seemingly happy with the way her hair was, she sat the mirror down and grabbed her homespun satchel; slipping in the book they were reading the night before. “I’m ready to go now.”

Petr gingerly slid the plywood door aside; replacing it when they were sure no one was looking. The little red girl and the skinny, bruised boy walked toward the tavern hand-in-hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this. This is my very first posted work of original fiction! (Be gentle)


End file.
